


Scarlet Letters

by Umeko



Category: d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types
Genre: Bisexuality, Consent Issues, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Light BDSM, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Misbehaving priests and seminarians, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Spanking, Teenage Hormones, Theology, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umeko/pseuds/Umeko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Richelieu first saw young Rene in the seminary, he never dreamed it would end up this way. Aramis might like his women but Rene could not resist the charms of his former mentor. Aramis and Richelieu conduct a secret liaison behind everyone's back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Rene

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas and is now in public domain. 
> 
> This is a Richelieu-Aramis fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still s bishop, Richelieu is introduced to a young seminary student.

“No need wait up for him. Aramis is visiting his cousin tonight…” Porthos winked mischievously as their newest recruit coughed awkwardly. 

“Just leave the window open so he can get back in,” Athos added as he handed Grimaud another empty wine bottle. “Off to bed now, pup. You have a long day ahead.”

“Wonder who the lucky lady is? Might be the Marquise de Graz. She was all over him at the ball last week…” Porthos suggested. “Or perhaps Dona Marianna, the Queen’s new lady-in-waiting.”   

“Hm, it could be the Marchsea di Ricci. She’s more his type… Dark hair and witty,” Athos murmured.

“Aramis does get loads of attention from the ladies, doesn’t he?” D’Artagnan shook his head. Aramis’ ‘cousin’ would most likely be some high-ranking noblewoman in Paris and it would be best not to pry. 

* * *

 

“Rene…” he arched at his name whispered huskily into his ear. He moaned at every nip and kiss administered to his collarbone. His nipples hardened as skilled, slender fingers teased them mercilessly. His hands fisted in the satiny sheets at each caress and lick. He panted shamelessly at the heat grinding into his pelvis, against his own throbbing need- Steel on steel, fiercer than any blade. His body was aflame. He wanted, needed more. He eagerly wrapped his leg around his lover’s hip. 

“Take me, I’m yours… please!” he gasped out before waves of heavenly bliss swept all reason from his mind. 

“Kiss my ring,” Cardinal Richelieu chuckled lowly as he placed his hand before those kiss-bruised lips. The musketeer obeyed and laid feverish, reverent kisses upon the jewel. Rid of the hateful blue tunic and that mask of Aramis, Rene was his, body, mind and soul, that beautiful body his to use as he desired and he would use it fully. 

“Roll over now, my pet…” Richelieu was gratified to see how eagerly the younger man twisted into position, kneeling with hands braced against the headboard and knees spread wide, offering his ass to be claimed.

* * *

 

 _6 years ago…_  

“Armand… I must introduce you to Rene d’Herblay. He’s a real bright lad,” the Bishop Marcel beamed from ear to ear despite the scowl on Richelieu’s face. Richelieu was fuming inside and had been since he arrived at this nondescript seminary in Tours, one of many in France. He had been banished, right, banished from court and Paris by that snivelling, snot-faced excuse for a king. After all he had done for…

“This way, Rene should be here. He’s a real scholar…” His host eagerly ushered him out of the rain and into a large room where a dozen cassock-clad students toiled over books and manuscripts like medieval monks. The boy concerned was a nephew of Marcel’s and the man no doubt hoped to gain a patron in the French court for him. The little brat would in all likelihood be a pimply simpleton who could not even tell Latin from chicken scratches.

“Ah, there’s the boy I was speaking of. He will serve you as your personal servant here should you require… Rene!”

Richelieu’s heart skipped a beat as the youth looked up from the book he had been reading. Unruly dark tresses framed a finely-featured face with the most soulful dark eyes he had seen. It was as if one of Botticelli’s angels had stepped out of its painting. Rene could not be more than fifteen or sixteen. His face still bore the smooth softness of boyhood and his voice had yet to gain the deeper tones of maturity when he spoke.

“Monsignor, I am at your service…” the student hurriedly tucked his book under his arm, stood to attention and bowed respectfully. Richelieu smiled slightly when he spied the title on the book- _Love’s Sonnets_. The eyes looking at him were both inquisitive and intelligent. Perhaps the boy did have some promise beyond that pretty face.

That night, his restless dreams were filled with that accused boy’s pretty face and slim, graceful fingers.

* * *

 

Rene fidgeted in his cot. He did not mean to peep. It just happened that he was passing by when he saw their honoured guest changing through the open window. The man was lean and muscular, so unlike what the boy had expected. There was nothing to suggest any flabbiness from a sedentary life of letters. _How did Richelieu achieve that?_ He would be expected to prepare their guest’s bath should he desire one and a delicious shiver ran through him at the thought of seeing that magnificent body up close. _That was crazy!_ He could not, should not… _Tumbling the kitchen girls was one thing but a bishop? Why did that inspire that fire in his loins?_

* * *

 

Fencing. Richelieu attacked his shadow in earnest with a length of birch wood and felt foolish. He would have sparred with one of guards but his entourage had been stripped from him by order of His August Majesty. He was not even allowed a single servant of his own from Paris to keep him company in this exile. Even his sword had been left behind. At least this silly activity would remove other thoughts from his mind, thoughts which were most improper for a man of the cloth and had plagued him for weeks.

“You fence, monsignor?” a young voice piped. _That brat._ Richelieu wiped his brow and turned. Rene stared curiously at him. He had swapped the shapeless cassock for the skin-tight hose and doublet of an Italian cut which was all the fashion among the youth. The boy was also holding a length of willow-wood in his left hand. “Not a habit one would expect of a man of God…” The boy’s voice had started to break. With luck, his boyish charms would fade with adulthood. 

“I was a soldier before I took the cloth. Old habits die hard…” Richelieu snorted. “All Christians are God’s soldiers and the clergy His generals. God does not require his generals to be frail of flesh.” 

“I can fence with you, should you wish… unless you would prefer your shadow…” Rene teased.

“How good are you?” 

“My father had a tutor teach my brothers and me fencing… My brothers are now in the King’s army…”

“So why are you here studying to be a priest, Rene? Can’t tell the point of a sword from its hilt?”

“No, my parents thought me too bookish for war and set me on the path to the Church. I will be a abbe one day… En garde!” the boy made a lunge which was more practiced grace than deadly intent. 

Laughing, Richelieu dodged a well-placed thrust from the boy. “Shouldn’t you use the other hand to hold your blade?” The boy had worked at his letters with his right hand.

“I can use both just as well…” Rene tossed his makeshift rapier from his left hand to his right deftly. Richelieu made use of the distraction to hook his legs out from under him. Rene landed on his backside with a yelp. Unfortunately, the momentum of the move unbalanced Richelieu too and the bishop stumbled right on top of his fallen opponent, bringing his member into contact with the boy’s groin. Rene’s eyes widened with surprise at the contact. The older man hurriedly got off the boy and helped him solicitously to his feet. Those fingers were so fragile in his hand.

“G-guess I was out of practice…” Rene blushed furiously.

Afterwards, they spent much of their time together, fencing or disputing theology. Marcel allowed it, arranging it such that his nephew was exempt from most classes. Surely he must have recognized the looks the boy was receiving from their guest. It was a wonder he did not have Rene placed directly in Richelieu’s bed. The thought of his angel naked and pale between his sheets made Richelieu weak in the knees. Richelieu tried studiously to keep Rene at arm’s length. He had no use for lovers, especially callow lads like Rene. It could not last. 

In his past life as a soldier, he had married young to a girl he had gotten with child. The boy she bore him was a drooling simpleton. He had little to do with his wife or child and did not particularly grieve for them when the plague got them both while he was away fighting at the front. There were tavern wenches and courtesans, plus the occasional youth, he had tumbled but none had captured his affections so completely. The road to true power was through the Church and his ambitions demanded it. The newly widowed soldier joined a seminary and turned priest, soaring through the ranks of the clergy… He was not going to throw it aside for some quick fuck.

Yes, he started looking upon the boy as a possible successor, his protégé… but Rene was not without his flaws. 


	2. Forgive Us Our Sins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bishop and his student take their relationship to the next step. Rene is being a naughty boy with the girls while naive and clueless in other aspects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanking, fellatio and dubious consent by a minor ahead. Dubious use of confession.

_“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” Rene gasped as his lover worked his oiled fingers into that tight ring of muscles. “I committed adultery with four different women on eight separate occasions and fornication on another six…”_

_“Christ, Rene! Are you trying to make me jealous?” Richelieu huffed and crooked his fingers such that the younger man yelped and arched his back like a cat. He would not get the names of the ladies involved. Aramis was never one to betray the confidences of a lady, even if she was a courtesan. To Rene, that was even more sacred than the seal of confession._

_“Then I confess the sin of sodomy with a prince of the church…” Rene groaned._

_“Absolution granted,” the cardinal emptied more oil onto his lover’s ass-crack._

* * *

 

Rene was extremely popular with the girls. There were plenty of young maids who toiled in the kitchens and laundries for his picking. Richelieu had heard rumours but he put them down to malicious talk by the other students until that fateful day he saw…

The youth was pink in the face and panting heavily. His eyes closed. He was leaning against the stable wall. Gravely concerned the boy was ill, the bishop hastened over. That was when he saw the young lady kneeling at Rene’s feet and fellating him in earnest.

“Rene d’Herblay! What in God’s name are you doing?” Richelieu bellowed. Both teenagers leapt in shock. The girl’s teeth must have slipped and caught Rene’s prick when she pulled away in a hurry. The minx grabbed her basket of clothes. She bobbed a curtsy to the livid bishop before making her getaway. Rene hunched over cradling his genitals and moaned helplessly.

“Let me see…” the bishop order and took Rene’s prick into his hand. The fleshy rod was still turgid. A bead of blood glistened where the skin was broken. Rene sobbed as he came over the hand so carefully examining his prick. He turned bright crimson with embarrassment.

“It would heal. But you owe me an essay on St Augustine’s teachings on the Original Sin by noon tomorrow,” Richelieu said blandly. The bishop tried to ignore the warm stickiness coating his hand. 

“Yes, monsignor…” Rene pulled his pants up and headed in the direction of the library. Richelieu wiped his hand with his handkerchief. That boy was more trouble than he was worth.

* * *

 

The next night they wound up together in bed in an unexpected manner. Richelieu was furious. The youth was late. Rene had never failed him so far. He knew his theology and the teachings of the saints inside and out. That essay would have been a light chore for him. Instead, the bishop saw neither hide nor hair of Rene or the promised essay. The hours ticked by and the sun set. Still no Rene… 

It was almost ten by his clock when Rene finally came to his office.

“Where is that essay you promised me, d’Herblay? Too busy tumbling girls? Do you have any idea what it means to be an abbe, or even a priest? Poverty, chastity and obedience?” the bishop ranted at hapless youth. _How could Rene act so utterly irresponsibly?_ One girl with child and he would be out of the seminary, his brilliance as a theologian coming to nought. The boy ought to be punished and Marcel would not mind him setting his wayward nephew back on the right path to the church. His colleague had left early that morning.

“Bend over the desk and lower your breeches,” the bishop ordered and took a length of birch. Rene obeyed without a peep. The lashes landed on Rene’s bare buttocks. The boy did not cry out but trembled with barely-suppressed sobs. He only paused when his fury abated. He ordered the student to rise and regretted his rashness when he saw how red the teen’s buttocks were and how he limped.

“Where is that essay?”

“I have not finished it yet…” Rene sobbed. “My mother- she is dead. The news came this morning, but my uncle wants me to stay put to attend to you and not go home… She’d be buried tomorrow and I will not see her one last time.”

Comforting a distressed soul is not what Richelieu excelled at. This time he managed it. He wiped away Rene’s tears clumsily with his hands. He gruffly ordered Rene to bend over the desk again, this time for him to apply a soothing salve to the fresh welts. Rene was so very sensitive there, arching and gasping at every touch. He obliged by rolling over so that the bishop could inspect the graze on his prick from his misadventure with the laundress.

He tried to raise the boy’s spirits with anecdotes from his soldiering past. They adjourned to his bedroom sometime near midnight. He recalled Rene’s dark eyes boring into his as he cupped his soft cheek. He had exhausted his stories by then. They leaned towards each other and their lips brushed. That contact was what it needed to tip them both over that boundary. Rene humping against his leg, needy and desperate… His hands touching Rene where it was positively sinful… Rene’s lips on his, their tongues fencing…

The next morning in the cold light of day both bishop and student prayed for forgiveness together but it did not stop them from seeking out each other that night and the next.

* * *

 

Richelieu knew he was in love and it frightened him. As a soldier, he had been with boys before, boys who would gladly offer him their lips and arses for a handful of coins. He would dismiss them without a second thought after the business was concluded. With Rene it was different. After it was over, he would allow Rene to snuggle up to him. At seventeen, he was almost fully grown but he was still a slender youth with smooth cheeks. His voice had mellowed to rich baritone but in many aspects, he was still a youngster. That first night, he had fellated Rene, something he had not done for any of the others. It was all excitingly new and he tasted of salty almonds. Rene attempted clumsily to return the favour and gagged on his first try. He was a keen student and soon mastered the knack of it.

They settled into an easy routine. Most nights, they would start by discussing theological topics. After which they would pray for forgiveness before retiring to Richelieu’s bed and indulging themselves in each other’s flesh. In the day, Rene still flirted outrageously with the laundresses and scullery maids. Richelieu allowed it. Rene would always come back to him at night. If any of the servants noted Rene’s bed was never slept in, they would think he had been tumbling another girl in the stables.

Even now that Rene was a grown man with a luxuriously styled beard they still started their evening on their knees in prayer on the Persian carpets of the cardinal’s bedchamber.

Rene was smitten. The sensations Richelieu introduced to him were so novel and exciting. No, he was to call him Armand when in bed and he liked it. They were equals there at least. At first he was hesitant and shy about showing his body. Armand’s body was so strong, muscular and perfect in almost every way, including the faint scars collected from his former life. Rene especially enjoyed tracing that old scar on his ribs with kisses and feeling the older man shudder at the touch. Armand loved exploring Rene’s body, running his hands all over his skin and kissing him, telling him how beautiful he was.

Rene secretly read up on some erotic, albeit forbidden, library texts on physical relations between men. As the dominant partner, Armand would stick his prick inside him, using him like a woman. The book was vague on the exact mechanisms of the act.

“Armand? Why haven’t you taken me like a woman?” Rene asked one night.

“Do you wish to be used thus or are you just curious?” Armand smiled and hugged him. Rene was a novice in the arts of manly love.

“Mostly curious… but it will make you happy, right?” Rene asked hopefully.

“Let’s see. First, I will need a lot of oil to make everything nice and slippery.”

“Why?” Rene curled up against him, hooking a leg about his.

“So it would not hurt too badly when I stick my fingers inside your arse and stretch it open…” Richelieu mimed the act with his fingers. The student blanched and shifted uneasily.

“Why do you need to do that?” The imp was getting infatuating, the little devil.

“So that it would not hurt too much when I put my prick inside your arse and use your hole like a woman’s cunt. If I were to use you without proper preparation, you’ll tear and bleed and be screaming in so much pain that it will not be enjoyable for both of us.”

Rene swallowed hard. Armand was huge. He had felt Armand’s prick in his hands and in his mouth. It could not possibly fit up his arse. He had been with girls and copulated with them. He recalled how they always squealed when he entered their soft womanhoods, slicked with their own juices. He had never taken anyone up the arse yet.

“I will not scream,” Rene insisted stubbornly and prayed his older lover would not test the truth of his words. To his relief, Armand shrugged.

“Not tonight, now go to sleep.” 


	3. Adieu?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richelieu learns that he has been made Cardinal of Paris and prepares to leave, but not before taking his relationship with Rene to another level. Rene is a naive little prig.

 

It was a time of bliss being with Rene. Armand might have gladly continued to linger in obscurity of the seminary, so long as sweet, sweet Rene was with him. Yet reality always had a nasty way of rearing its ugly head. It started when Marcel got the gossip from Paris and cornered him in library. 

“Armand! You will become a cardinal and return to Paris…” the annoying man was flapping about like some crazed pigeon. 

“Oh, they say that all the time but nothing ever came of it…” Richelieu growled in annoyance as he wrestled with an unwieldy tome of early Roman Church history. It was not the first time rumours about him being recalled to the capital reached the seminary and he was not going to set himself out for a disappointment.

“But this time they heard it from Monsieur himself! When you go to Paris, you will take my nephew with you as secretary. I know you like the boy…” Marcel nudged him, and was that a wink? Good God, did he know? Has Rene been Marcel’s spy all along? Or had the foolish boy babbled to his guardian? The soon-to-be cardinal felt his heart drop. 

* * *

 

“Rene, I do not need you here,” Richelieu scowled when Rene came to join him in the bath after drawing the water for the bath. It had become another ritual for them to share the bath after Rene was done drawing the water.

“Why?” Rene chose to ignore the warning. “You never stopped me before…”

“That was before someone went blabbing to his uncle about us…” Richelieu knew he had to break off the liaison. There would be talk if he were to return to Paris with that handsome youth in his entourage. Rene was too young to be a secretary to his office. 

“Who?” Rene sank into the tub with a soft splash. 

“You!” 

“Wait, you think I told my uncle about us? Even if he knew…” Rene laughed and leaned against his mentor and Richelieu could feel his resolve faltering. He had to be firm.

“Good Lord! Do you have any idea, fool? It will be the ruin of both of us! You do want to be an abbe, don’t you?” 

“I don’t see why we cannot continue as we are and…” 

“You are a fool and a slut. Get out of my bath and I don’t want to see your face again!” Rene winced at the words as if he had been slapped. He clambered out of the tub, giving his lover a nice look at the glistening globes of his buttocks before throwing on a towel. In silence, he dried himself off, dressed and left. When Richelieu left his bath, he found that Rene had removed his belongings from the chamber adjoining his bedroom.

* * *

 

That night, his dreams were troubled. Richelieu dreamt of using Rene hard as if he were another boy whore he had purchased back in soldiering days. He dreamed of slamming Rene against the wall, ripping his clothes off and forcing his arse-cheeks roughly apart, then fucking him both dry and hard until the blood came running down his pale thighs. He wanted to make the infatuating brat scream and beg for mercy. He wanted to rip tufts of that silky dark hair from his scalp. He wanted to choke the boy so that his torn muscles would clench around his cock. When he was near, he would tear his shaft free of Rene, throw his hapless prey onto the carpet and come all over his face. When it was all over, he would drag the boy all bloodied and seed-stained and shove him into Marcel’s office to let the bishop know how much a whore his precious nephew was. 

Richelieu awoke with a raging erection and no Rene beside him to soothe it with his willing soft hands and sinful lips. As he stroked himself to completion, it was Rene’s handsome face he pictured sucking him off.   

The official announcement came at breakfast. Marcel’s sources in Paris were reliable this time. Richelieu was now Cardinal of Paris and he was to return to the city as soon as possible. His loyal servant Comte Rochefort had arranged for a suitable escort of armed men to protect him during the journey and they would arrive within five days. _Five days!_

There was no sign of Rene d’Herblay. When he asked, Marcel shrugged and explained his nephew had gone to visit his sisters. “Haven’t you dismissed him as you were leaving?” Marcel raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps Jules could assist…” 

“Never mind, I can manage alone. I was hoping to pass a book to him personally…” Richelieu lied. It was too late for him to make up with Rene.

* * *

 

As always, the youth surprised him yet again. It was eve before his departure to Paris and the new cardinal was finishing off a letter when a sound from Rene’s room roused him. He found his protégé tying a pile of books together. On the floor was a small clothes chest. The brat had been packing his belongings for a journey. 

“Armand? Will the red or green look better in Paris? The red is my favourite but it is so provincial…” Rene drawled as he lifted two doublets from his bed. The new cardinal was torn between an apology for his earlier temper and smacking some sense into the presumptuous upstart. 

“Rene, what, in the name of the Virgin, are you doing?” 

“Why packing for Paris, Armand. My uncle told me about you going to Paris tomorrow and you were looking for me, right?” Rene pouted his sensual lips prettily. “I do want to see Notre Dame…” 

“Rene, you are not going to Paris!” The last thing he needed was for the whole of Paris to watch as he rode into the city with Rene. That would be a field-day for the court gossips. “Not with me, at least,” he added as an afterthought. He did not want to give up Rene yet. 

“What’s wrong? Everyone would know about us then. I can ride a horse and travel with…” A slap rang out in the room as Richelieu hit Rene. The stunned youth rubbed his reddened cheek. 

“You naïve fool! That is the whole point of keeping it quiet. I cannot risk losing my cardinalship over…” he turned the ring on his finger nervously as he spoke. 

“So, I am not worth it, aren’t I? I’m just some whore you take your pleasure with and discard when you’re done!” Rene shouted. Richelieu prayed the walls were thick enough to contain the commotion. It would never do for the whole seminary to learn the cardinal of Paris has been fucking one of the students, He did not mean it to seem that way. Rene gave a huff and made for the door. 

“Wait!” Richelieu reacted. He grabbed hold of Rene’s arm and dragged him back. 

“Lemme go!” Rene was younger but he was inexperienced in the arts of hand-to-hand combat. It was a small matter for the taller and more experienced Richelieu to wrestle him to the floor. He straddled the youth’s back as he twisted an arm behind him. 

“Hear me out, Rene. I just need time to make the necessary arrangements. Do you trust me?” Richelieu bent down to kiss and nibbled at the shell of Rene’s ear. The youth moaned but did not reply. He trailed kisses down the soft nape of his neck and sucked on one spot to raise a bruise. Rene’s breath hitched. He did not flee when Richelieu released his arm. 

“Armand… I trust you…” Rene’s voice was hoarse with lust. He rolled his hips meaningfully against his captor’s warmth. The odds were Richelieu’s favour and he was not one to waste them.   

“Good, first, a bath. You stink of horse…” Richelieu lifted his bulk off the smaller Rene. He was looking forward to moving their relationship to the next step before his departure. Rene’s eyes were dark when he got up and dusted himself off. Obediently, he went to draw the bath. There was more than sufficient time before he returned for Richelieu to prepare for the final step in seducing the handsome youth. 


	4. Your Eminence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rene gets deflowered and Richelieu indulges in some power play.

Rene came to call him when the bath was ready and Richelieu was pleased to see Rene was still eager for him. Richelieu had rid himself of the heavy cassock and was wearing an open shirt. He was already kneeling on the floor then and he beckoned Rene to join him. Rene’s gaze alit on that muscular expense of chest revealed by the open collar. His student stumbled with unseemly haste through the _Ave Maria_. Rene groaned aloud when Richelieu threw in the Lord’s Prayer for good measure.

As was their custom, Rene stripped naked first before assisting his older lover. Sometimes, Armand would playfully grope his lover in the process, but not tonight. Noticing his silence and stillness, Rene got to his knees and untied Richelieu’s drawers. He leaned forward to take the older man’s manhood in his mouth but he was forestalled by fingers wound roughly in his hair.

“No, get in the bath now,” Richelieu hissed. As much as he would enjoy fucking Rene’s face, he had other plans for tonight and he was regrettably, not as young as he once was. To this end, he ordered Rene not to move as he handled his body into the desired positions in the tub. He took the wash-rag and started wiping Rene’s beautiful body down. After the months spent with Rene, he knew all the sensitive spots on his body and used that knowledge to the fullest in the bath. Rene whimpered and pleaded for more but Richelieu would not oblige him.

“Patience, my young buck,” he chuckled. “You have faith in me, no?" 

“I-I trust you, Armand… but- oh!” Rene’s hands were white-knuckled from gripping onto the edge of the tub in a half-squat. He yelped when Richelieu deliberately ran the warm cloth over his balls and up between his ass-cheeks. He had not touched him there yet. 

“How much do you trust me, Rene? Enough to be mine?” The hand kneading his ass left no question as to what his mentor and lover had planned for them. Rene blushed red as he nodded his head. The lump in his throat would not let him speak. 

“Enough to do as I wish and wait until you are sent for from Paris? Enough to give up your childish dalliances with the maids and serve only me?” 

“Yes, Your Eminence! Ah!” Rene yelped as a finger probed at his entrance. He was tight there, most likely a virgin. Richelieu hurriedly withdrew the digit. It had not breached Rene yet. That could wait.

“Tell me, Rene d’Herblay. Is your ass as truly untouched as it appears? Have you spread your legs like a woman and allowed any other man to use you?”

“Never, Armand. You’re the first – please, be gentle…” Rene trembled both from anticipation and cramp building in his muscles.

“Tut-tut, and I thought you trusted me,” Richelieu teased and slapped Rene’s butt. “Now let’s get dried.” He was looking forward to giving his lover the most mind-blowing fuck of his young life. He wanted Rene d’Herblay to be his entirely – body, heart and soul.  

* * *

 

Rene was nervous as he sat naked on the bedspread before Richelieu. He could tell from the way the youth chewed on his lower lip and how he dug his nails into the palms of his hands. This was not good. He needed Rene to relax. Richelieu ran his eyes appreciatively over the pale skin before reaching for the wine on the mantelpiece. 

“First, some wine,” Richelieu poured out two glasses of wine and held one glass to Rene. The youth murmured his thanks and sipped at his glass almost effeminately. Deciding against finishing the wine, he set the half-filled glass aside. Richelieu huffed and took a mouthful of his wine. He held it in his mouth, leaned in and kissed Rene. Rene could taste the wine, feel it flowing into his mouth from his lover’s as their tongues fenced. It was intoxicatingly novel and debauched. He moaned as the wine dribbled down his throat and chin. 

Richelieu’s calloused hands were on him, toying with his nipples until they peaked. Rene whined and thrust his hips forward, seeking contact with the tantalisingly erect cock his lover was sporting. With a dark chuckle, the older man shoved him back gently onto the pillows.

“Roll over.” A hand slapped his flank lightly. “On your knees, arse up.” Rene did so readily although his heart was still thumping like a scared rabbit. His resolve faltered, as did his prick. Cooing soothing words, Richelieu eased his legs apart and arranged a pillow beneath his hips for support. Warm oil dribbled down the cleft of his ass. The first slick finger breached the tight ring and Rene could not help clenching at the intrusion. It was painful. 

“Relax, easy now…” Richelieu massaged the small of his back as if soothing a jumpy horse. Rene relaxed and the second finger was added. The pain was dulling now as his body adjusted. It was still horribly uncomfortable. Armand was gentle with him, distracting him with kisses, endearments and caresses as his fingers worked at stretching him open. Oil was used liberally and Rene could feel it running down his inner thighs as the fingers pumped into him.

“Ah!” Rene screamed into the pillow as white burst before his eyes. He had never been touched in such a manner… Before he could wrap his mind around what was happening to him, Richelieu’s fingers brushed against that same spot again, teasing it enough to make Rene’s cock stiffen. “Armand! Oh!” he whined helplessly as the intimate caresses continued. He grabbed onto the sheets to steady himself as waves of pleasure rushed through his frame. 

“Rene, don’t dare you come yet…” Richelieu warned when he felt in front of Rene’s hips and found his cock leaking. His lover was close, very close to spilling. Rene was flushing pink now, leaning back onto his fingers and panting. He wanted to look into Rene’s eyes as he took him for the very first time. He removed his fingers and Rene whined at the loss.

“More, damn it, Armand!” Rene groaned.

“Tsk, tsk. Some manners, if you please…” It took all of Richelieu’s willpower not to give in.

“Fuck me, take me, no, claim me, please!”

“Is that all, Rene?”

“Please, Your Eminence…” Rene sobbed. He did not want Armand to leave him so achingly hard and empty.

“Very well, then. On your back and knees up.”

Rene rolled over. Richelieu slicked his cock with the oil and grabbed hold of his lover’s knees. Rene gasped when he felt the head of his lover’s cock probing at his entrance. _Was it going to fit inside him? Or…_

With a single thrust, Richelieu entered Rene’s virgin ass and buried it to the hilt in that wet tightness. The youth screamed at the sudden pain. It had hurt despite the earlier preparations. Richelieu cursed under his breath when he felt the muscles clench in protest about his shaft. 

“Armand, please… stop, it hurts…” Rene blabbered as his fists grabbed at the sheets. The cock inside him was huge. His body felt like it was going to split in two if he moved. Richelieu shushed him and leaned to kiss away the tears running down his cheeks. 

“Easy now, I will not move yet. Let you have time to get used…” he forced the words out through gritted teeth. His body was screaming for him to pound the boy’s ass into the mattress, Rene took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Richelieu felt the muscles relax a little. He lifted Rene’s knees up and rolled his hips. Rene moaned and his eyelids fluttered. Aha! He had it now. 

Everything changed when that spot inside him was touched by Richelieu’s cock. The pain was still there, but the pleasure was far greater. Rene gasped and bucked his hips, trying to re-establish that delicious contact. Richelieu was moving now, in and out, brushing against that same spot with increasing rhythm. Richelieu shifted Rene’s hips and the angle of the thrusts became deeper. The student gasped, whined and begged. He was close… 

“Armand! I can’t hold back…”

“Then look at me and come,” his lover grunted. Rene opened his eyes. They were dark with lust and need. He looked into his lover’s face and saw the naked desire there. Rene came hard with a hoarse yell. He must have passed out for a few heartbeats. When he next became aware of his surroundings, he was leaning against Armand’s chest with Armand’s cock still pounding into his ass as he sat on his lover’s lap. With a final grunt, Armand shuddered and spilled into Rene. Rene could feel the hot seed flooding his sore insides, filling his ass and leaking out when Armand eased his flaccid cock free.

“Clean up first before bed…” the cardinal disentangled Rene’s limbs from his and fetched a washbasin of water and two small towels. They cleaned themselves off. Rene winced when he wiped his ass-cleft. He was sore, inside and outside. He could barely stand on his feet. His hips ached, his legs ached. Even his insides burned. There was a bit of blood on the towel when he was done. Richelieu beckoned him to join him under the covers and he did, curling up against the taller man’s chest.

There was no way he would be able to walk without limping, much less ride a horse. He was going to have to bid his lover adieu and wait to be ordered to Paris. _No, perhaps it was adieu forever_. _He would not risk his reputation as cardinal. Armand got what he wanted – Rene’s nice virgin ass – and he had just claimed it._ A voice in Rene’s mind whispered. His thoughts were in turmoil as Rene lay awake next to a sleeping Richelieu until the first rays of dawn lit the eastern sky.

* * *

 

Richelieu took him one last time before breakfast, a rough and hurried coupling as he knelt and braced himself against the headboard. There were no tender words and kisses this round, only the grip upon his hips and the slap of flesh as his ass was ravished. Rene endured it although his ass still ached from the night before. With a grunt, it was over and the cardinal withdrew. This time, Rene did not spill himself. His lover had not bothered to see to his pleasure. Instead, he grabbed him by the hair for a bruising kiss on his lips before leaving him on the sheets with seed running down his thighs. 

Rene watched mutely as Armand cleaned himself and dressed. The message was clear. _Know your place._ He furtively stroked himself to completion under the covers and came with a soft gasp. 

“Are you going to lie there all morning?” Richelieu chided. Rene shook his head. The cardinal had to bite back a smile. The youth looked as dishevelled as a bride after the wedding night. He wanted to kiss those kiss-bruised lips every morning and plunder that tight warmth every night. He wanted to introduce his lover to the bed-games he often indulged in during his soldier days. The idea of Rene tied up and helpless was tempting, as were the images of him begging to be taken as the belt reddened his bottom… Perhaps they could even go incognito and hire a few skilled Parisian whores, male and female, and have an orgy… but that all had to wait. Rene limped out of bed and towards the washbasin, naked and unabashed. 

“Rene, you are to stay here in the seminary and wait. I will send for you,” Richelieu promised.

“Yes, Your Eminence…”

“Kiss my ring,” Richelieu ordered and Rene obliged by kneeling, still buck naked, and planting a reverent kiss on the symbol of his newly-won cardinalcy.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We all know Rene is not the type to sat and wait idly.


	5. In Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis meets Richelieu in Paris under less than ideal circumstances.

The days since his return to Paris were packed with various concerns pertaining to his new position as cardinal. Armand Richelieu was constantly involved in meetings and discussions with not only the clergy but also the nobility, foreign envoys and important merchants of the city. His Majesty was a callow youth and highly amendable to his guidance without his interfering mother hovering about him. Richelieu’s star was soaring faster than he had ever dared dream possible. However, there was a single regret which came to him late at night when all was quiet and cold. Rene.

He promised the dear boy he would write but he dared not. Many nights he had sat for hours with ink and paper at hand to no avail. What if his letters were intercepted and read by his enemies? He had many now as the most powerful man in Paris apart from the king. What if he did write an innocently-worded letter and Rene responded with ill-guarded words? The scandal would ruin them both. He would be cast out of his office as a sodomite and a seducer of young boys. As the seduced, Rene d’Herblay would not escape unscathed. He would forever bear the taint of being his catamite.  

His dreams were full of the naïve lad he left behind him. He often awoke aching for the boy’s soft warmth. Such was the sacrifice his office demanded of him. He did write to the Bishop Marcel and was gratified to learn that he had resumed his neglected theology studies and was on his way to becoming fully ordained. Perhaps once Rene was a full-fledged priest, he could force his current secretary to retire and appoint his lover to the post. He kept up the seemingly innocent correspondence with Marcel to learn about Rene’s progress. The months flew by. 

Then three months shy of Rene’s expected ordination, disaster struck.

Marcel wrote that his nephew had fled the seminary after an illegal duel over the affections of a young woman. Blood had been spilled and the victim was gravely wounded. The man was not expected to live. He beseeched the Cardinal to grant clemency and assist his nephew should he come to Paris. It must be Paris for which Rene had fled to. Where else could he go? The cardinal tore the letter to shreds and fed it to the fire. 

 _The young fool! What mess had Rene gotten himself into now?_ The cardinal chafed. Rene was a hopeless innocent. Anything from bad weather to bandits could have put an untimely end to his escape well before he reached Paris, if he was headed to the city as believed. 

That night, Richelieu’s dreams were fraught with horrific images of his lover. Rene crouching cold, hungry and penniless in a ditch. Rene lying grievously wounded in the road by bandits. The most terrifying of all, Rene being forced by a gang of coarse men and screaming for his aid. He, Armand, unable to do anything but watch as the brutes sorely abused the poor boy. He got out of bed and spent the rest of the night in prayer.

* * *

 

Weeks slipped by, then months. The dreams’ intensity lessened as more important matters occupied his attentions. He still made discrete enquiries with Rochefort’s aid as to the arrival of any seminarian to the city. Alas, there were no leads. The cardinal realised that perhaps Rene’s uncle was mistaken about Rene’s destination. He certainly prayed that Rene was somewhere else, safe and sound. Marcel did not mention further news of Rene in his letters. Eventually, their correspondence stalled entirely. 

If there was one constant thorn in his side in Paris, it was the Musketeers. Monsieur de Treville was greatly in the king’s favour. Louis XIII enjoyed his parades and the handsome soldiers of the Musketeer Corps were more than willing to indulge his desire for spectacle. Bright blue uniform tunics, white feathered hats, they were quite a sight for a bunch of lesser noble sons and wastrels. The musketeers were constantly brawling with Rochefort’s men and caused his captain no end of headaches. 

Three names soon emerged as the main ringleaders and troublemakers. 

“Porthos, Athos and Aramis…” a livid Comte Rochefort spat the names out as he attacked the candles of Richelieu’s atrium.

“Three men and they vex my worthy captain so?” the cardinal chuckled. Rochefort glowered darkly. 

Richelieu had considered taking his solace with his captain once, only once in the early days when the desire for Rene was the keenest. Rochefort was not to his liking at all. He was too coarse and hard. The man was a loyal servant and a trained soldier. He had feigned a headache with the intent of flirting with the man as he aided him to his chamber. His desire died when he felt how rough Rochefort’s palms were as he assisted him out of his heavy robes and how the man reeked too heavily of eau de cologne with underlying note of horse. No, it was best that Rochefort remained his servant and captain. 

“Porthos sent five of my men to the infirmary. Athos gravely wounded another two and…” Rochefort sliced through three candles as if he wished he were beheading the trio. 

“So? I will have a word with the king to have these troublemakers suspended from their duties…” the cardinal yawned.

* * *

 

Things did not go quite as planned. Louis was greatly amused by the tale of Porthos breaking open the skulls of three of the cardinal’s guards with an oaken bench in the tavern brawl. The queen made things worse by suggesting that perhaps they should hear the musketeers’ side of the tale before passing judgement. Chortling with mirth, Louis ordered Monsieur de Treville to send the trio over for an audience.

“Captain, am I understand that the trouble started when your men accosted a young lady in the establishment? Perhaps the musketeers should be commended for going to her defence…” the queen smiled as she watched Rochefort bluster. His men had indeed attempted to assault a young woman who worked in the tavern.

“But, Your Majesty, it is well-known that such places are frequented by women of loose morals…” the cardinal made an attempt to salvage the situation.

“And most of our citizenry apparently, including your guards and Comte Rochefort here,” Queen Anne’s voice brooked no argument. “Don’t you agree, Louis?” she beamed at her husband. 

“Oh, of course. The musketeers should be rewarded for acting as gentlemen worthy of their station…” Louis replied and squeezed his queen’s hand fondly.

With a sinking heart, Richelieu realised that the young queen, newly-wedded to Louis was no pushover. She would not be so easily manipulated as her husband had been and Louis was fast falling under her charms.

It took the better part of an hour before the trio of musketeers were located and summoned to the palace. Apparently, the trio had been off-duty and slumbering in another establishment of ill-repute to have escaped their captain’s initial scouring of the streets. Bleary-eyed and looking very hungover, they stood to attention they best they could. Both Louis and Richelieu ran an assessing eye over them.

The first was a giant of a man with shoulders like an ox’s. The cardinal deduced that this must be the legendary Porthos who had flung a heavy oaken bench across the room at the cardinal’s guards. Porthos was taller than the cardinal and he chose to let his gaze pass over the churchman as if the tapestry on the far wall was more worthy of his attention.

The second was dark and handsome with the poise of a born nobleman. The cardinal could tell by the way he bowed to both king and queen when he entered their presence. He was no stranger to nobility and it did not ruffle him much. He met the cardinal’s gaze with an icy coolness just this side of politeness. The third… 

The third man went pale and stumbled visibly when their eyes met. Richelieu had to swallow a gasp. It was undeniably Rene d’Herblay he was looking at. 

The boy had grown in the interval and filled in nicely. He was taller now, albeit still shorter than Richelieu. His shoulders were still slender but he held himself more like a swordsman than a scholar. No doubt his arms were muscular under those loose sleeves. Rene had grown a moustache and goatee, both lovingly styled. 

Athos grabbed hold of Aramis when his comrade stumbled. “Aramis, are you well?” he whispered. They must not show weakness in front of their captain, their Majesties and the cardinal’s men. And most importantly, the cardinal.  

“It’s just…” Aramis bit his lip to keep from speaking words he should not. “A-a little too much wine, that’s all.” 

He was not going to acknowledge his one-time mentor. He refused to give him that satisfaction. Weeks of waiting without a word, Rene was a fool for daring to believe that Armand would send for him. No doubt there were pretty boys aplenty in Paris ripe for seduction. For a time he had thrown himself into a series of ill-conceived liaisons with both servant girls and merchants’ wives alike. The Flemish woman was a mistake. She had the wits of a ewe even if she was a good lay in bed. She did not inform him her husband was present and the man was dead set on a duel. Rene was the better swordsman in the end.

When he set off for Paris, he swore that he would never seek out his mentor but create a new life for himself as Aramis the soldier. All roads led to Paris in France. He could not bear the idea of becoming a mercenary soldier by fleeing to the Tuscany or Spain. Chance saw him befriending Athos and Porthos, resulting in him finally joining the Musketeers. A family friend put in a good word for him before Monsieur de Treville. His swordsmanship improved by leaps and bounds thanks to Athos’ patient tutelage. All but gone was the naïve student from the seminary. He was now a full-fledged musketeer.

Yet now his heart was thumping as the Armand looked at him. _Did he recognize him? Surely he did_. Armand had grown thinner and sterner in his looks. Athos was telling the king and queen of what really transpired in the brawl. The account was greeted by chuckles from the king and more demure giggles from the queen. The musketeers were duly rewarded by the king for Louis admired a good tale and their chivalry.

The cardinal kept his silence throughout, as did Aramis. The taste of betrayal was bitter in the cardinal’s mouth as Richelieu was dismissed from the royal presence.

 


	6. Aramis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis decides to confront his mentor and rough sex ensues. Has he been forgiven?

Cardinal Richelieu, was furious. Comte Rochefort wondered at the cause of his temper. The rage roiled off his master like silent waves. He trembled, waiting for punishment which never came. It was to his great relief that the cardinal dismissed him from his presence. 

Richelieu had considered propositioning the Comte now as a form of revenge on Rene. However, it was too risky. He would be putting himself into the Comte’s power. Rochefort might not view buggery so openly and denounce him before the church and court as a sodomite. He could not hire a whore without risking scandal. All he could do was sit in his lonely study and stew. 

 _How could Rene do this to him? A musketeer indeed!_ One of de Treville’s people who always seemed to thwart his every move. He wanted to flog the little ingrate until his back was in bloody ribbons. Surely Rene starving in the gutter or even getting killed by bandits was preferable to this! 

Rene had changed. He was now Aramis, a musketeer. The cardinal rubbed his temples. He felt old. The naïve student of his was gone but the ache in his groin flared up whenever he thought of Rene or Aramis.

* * *

 

Aramis’ emotions were in turmoil. He chided himself. He should have known that their paths would eventually cross. Paris was a big city, but not that big. _Armand._ He closed his eyes and thought back to his awakening to manly love. He pictured Armand’s skilled hands on him, teasing him, inciting that fire which he once thought he could only obtain from a woman. He had tried to forget Armand to no avail. He flirted with the courtesans, ladies-in-waiting and serving wenches. He tumbled a few in beds or haylofts. They were all pleasurable encounters but something was still missing.

He reached into his vest and extracted a handkerchief. He held it to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of incense and rosewater. _Armand._ After Armand left him, Rene found the handkerchief in his mentor’s room. He kept it close to his person ever since, along with the silver cross around his neck his mother had given him when he left home for the seminary. Those were the only mementos of his life at the seminary he retained. 

Aramis considered starting a liaison with another man. He considered Athos but the man had no inclinations in that area. He tried to get him drunk once. He soon learned that Athos was awfully tolerant to the effects of drink and the night would end with a sober Athos tucking a drunken Aramis into bed. Aramis would awake with a monster of a hangover afterwards. If he did attempt to proposition Athos under the influence of drink, Athos was a gentleman enough not to speak of it. 

He had more success with Porthos. True, Porthos liked his women but he was once a sailor and no stranger to manly love. One night, he had gotten Porthos drunk enough to let down his guard. They wound up in Porthos’ room. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Porthos only grinned stupidly as Aramis knelt at his feet and untied his breeches. Porthos’ shaft was huge, even when it was half-limp. It was thicker than Armand’s. Still, Aramis took the tip into his mouth like he did for Armand. He licked and sucked the cock, feeling it harden on his tongue and listening to his fellow musketeer’s breath hitch. Porthos growled and wound his fingers into Aramis’ hair. 

Aramis winced as his hair was gripped so tightly that strands were torn out by the root. Porthos fucked his mouth hard. He could not breathe. Dark spots were dancing before his eyes. With a grunt, Porthos spilled down his throat before falling flat across the bed and snoring like a hog. The deed done, Aramis swallowed and wiped his lips. He felt guilty for having used his friend thus. 

Thankfully, the copious drink he had imbibed earlier had muddled Porthos’ memory of the event. The large musketeer was convinced it was a saucy serving wench who had joined him in the bedroom after Aramis left him. The other musketeers were out of the question. Aramis did not know them that well and they might be affronted enough to betray him as a sodomite. The servants were not even worth considering. Not even Bazin, who was assigned to him by his elder brother to make sure he remained out of trouble in Paris. He never liked Bazin. 

Armand. Aramis groaned. Sooner or later he had to confront Armand and face his wrath. He had not meant to set himself against his mentor. He had not intended to flee for Paris, had he? Surely Armand meant to write and send for him eventually… Yet the months without any word from him seemed endless. _The man was only using him as an outlet for his lust,_ another voice chimed inside his mind. _A naïve, handsome boy to be used._

* * *

 

Before Aramis realised it, his footsteps have brought him within the courtyard of the cardinal’s residence. He cursed under his breath and turned to leave. He must not be seen here.

“Well, well, what brings you here, Aramis? It is Aramis, isn’t it?” Before Aramis could react, he found himself facing the point of a rapier wielded by Comte Rochefort. The cardinal’s lackey sneered at him. “Snooping about His Eminence’s place? Or are you seeking to bed his maidservant like the dog you are? They might just suit your low tastes…”

He was at a disadvantage. Rochefort would stab him in the throat well before he could draw his own sword. His opponent was unlikely to back down.

“Rochefort! What is this?” A commanding voice boomed out from an upstairs window. Both comte and musketeer looked up to find a livid cardinal at the window.

Aramis’ eyes met Armand’s and he could not stop his breath from hitching. His throat was too tight.

“I found this knave snooping about…”

“Captain, lower your blade. You are to ride out to Boudreaux now and order twenty flagons of wine from the brothers of St Nicholas’. There will be no bloodshed on my doorstep!” Rochefort gawped at the order but thought the better of protesting. Sourly, he sheathed his sword and turned on his heel. Aramis was spared, or was he? Rene glanced up to the window but Armand had already withdrawn.

Before he could leave, the front door opened and Armand stood there in the doorway, stern and forbidding. “Rene.”

Rene felt a thrill run through every fibre of his being at his name on his mentor’s lips. When the cardinal turned to retreat into the recesses of the building, he followed without hesitation. Armand led him to a study and latched the door behind them. Rene’s heart was thumping. He recognized that hungry look on his mentor’s face.

“Do you still recall your prayers, Rene?”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” he knelt and leaned to kiss the ring on the hand Richelieu held out to him. The force of the backhand caught him off guard and sent him sprawling on his rear. His cheek was stinging and bruised from the ring.

“You think you deserve to kiss my ring? You disobeyed me, Rene. You saw fit to abandon your studies and vocation, for what? Gallivanting about Paris chasing every skirt that comes your way?”

“I-I’m sorry, please f-forgive…” Rene moaned as the cardinal pressed the toe of his slipper against his groin quite deliberately. Seeing his protégé’s reaction, the cardinal grinned. He knew how to handle Rene. He ran the tip of his toe over the bulge in Rene’s breeches.

“I doubt you deserve my forgiveness, Rene.” The cardinal faked nonchalance as he walked over to his armchair and sat down. He was wearing his cardinal’s robes and he was glad of it. The voluminous scarlet fabric hid his own bludgeoning need from his handsome protégé. Rene shuffled over on his knees, distraught. He had to earn forgiveness but how? He had already knelt, begged and…

On hands and knees, he bent down and placed a kiss on Richelieu’s slipper. The cardinal did not stop him when he continued kissing his feet. Rene trailed his kisses upwards, from the toes to the top of his feet, till he reached the bare skin of the ankles… He drew himself up, rubbing his face against Richelieu’s groin. Richelieu groaned and gripped the armrests. Rene could almost taste his musky desire under those scarlet folds…

“Enough! Now we pray…”

He had won. Rene bit back a smile as the cardinal yanked him to his feet and dragged him over to the prie-dieu. First they would pray for forgiveness, then they would fuck. Rene would have earned Armand’s forgiveness.

Rene had barely uttered the last words of his prayer before Armand was on him, insistent and hungry. Eager hands tore at his tunic even as he was pinned to the hard wooden floor. He realised Armand was going to take him there, before the prie-dieu, with the painted saints and the Virgin looking on. He never felt so delightfully dirty. Somehow, Armand had divested himself of his scarlet robes and was bare-chested now. Rene shed his tunic and shirt with wild abandon. All logic had fled them, leaving only primal lust in its wake.

Their hips ground together feverishly. Rene moaned as rough hands tore at his hair and pinched his nipples. Their kisses were frenetic, a hungry tangle of tongues. It was a wonder they restrained their passion long enough to unlace their breeches, or for Armand to obtain the oil meant for the votive lamps and slosh it over Rene’s exposed and upraised ass.

Rene screamed into the back of his hand at Armand’s over-eager attempts at preparing him. It hurt. Perhaps this was Armand’s punishment all along. All coherent thought deserted him when Armand plunged in with a single thrust. He shrieked so loudly, he was certain the servants would come running. They did not. He whined and gasped as Armand pummelled him relentlessly from behind. A hand seized hold of his weeping cock and worked it roughly to the point of pain. Rene came hard. White stars exploded before his eyes.

“Good boy.” Boneless, Rene slumped forward into his own spent seed as Armand continued his thrusts, until he reached his own release. With a victorious shout, Armand shot hot and hard into Rene’s sore passage. For anything from a few minutes to an hour, they lay there with the sweat and semen drying on their skins. Armand was still draped over his back. Rene could feel his breath ghosting against the shell of his ear. He was still inside him.

“Why, Rene?” There a slight discomfort as his lover pulled his flaccid member out. Rene could feel the stickiness of seed and possibly blood oozing from his passage. Weak-limbed, Rene rolled over, wincing when his ass came in contact with the floor. Armand was wiping himself off and re-arranging his garments. Shakily, Rene fought to regain his control. 

“Why did you come to me now, after all this time? After you have chosen to disobey me?” Armand, the passionate lover, was gone. Now only the stern cardinal remained to interrogate him. “Why did you not remain in the seminary?” 

“Because you never sent word, ever… I thought…” Words failed him. Instead, Rene focused on gathering his scattered garments. He pulled his breeches on without bothering to clean himself first. He felt suddenly vulnerable in his nakedness. 

“Oh, ye of little faith…” There was a bemused twinkle in the older man’s eyes. “But this would work nicely, Rene… You, Rene, within de Treville’s…” 

“No. I refuse to be another pawn in your schemes. Should you require a dog to do your bidding, you already have him in your captain.” 

“Rene, or is it Aramis now? You have changed much, yet your body responds to my touch the same way…” 

“You were the one who were so eager to stick your cock up my ass…” It was a weak stab and Aramis knew it. His fingers fumbled as he tried to tie his tunic on. There was a tear in the fabric which would require mending. He traced his finger along the rent. 

“Ah, Rene. Clearly your time with the musketeers has coarsened you. A pity. Never mind. We will be seeing each other, sometime.” 

When Aramis looked up, he was alone in the room which still smelled of male musk, spent seed and incense. He did not understand how he managed to leave the building and return to his rooms without being stopped or questioned about his dishevelled state. His ass ached for two whole days afterwards. It was a torment to be in the saddle but he hid it well enough from his comrades. 


	7. Truce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armand calls for a truce with Rene so they can continue fucking the hell out of each other. Aramis has no place in this.

A few weeks later there was another skirmish between the musketeers and the cardinal’s guards. The musketeers involved in the incident were Athos, Porthos and Aramis. Once more they were summoned before His Majesty. The cardinal scowled darkly again when the king chortled at the animated retelling courtesy of Porthos. He sent them away with little more than a stern rebuke. As he stood there, Aramis could feel Armand’s eyes upon him, as if undressing him where he stood. 

Their paths crossed again later in the hallway a few hours later. The cardinal glared at the trio as he shoved past them in the narrow space, accompanied by his lap-dog Rochefort. Aramis felt something being shoved into his hand as the cardinal passed in a swish of scarlet robes. He excused himself and went to the grandrobe. He unrolled the piece of parchment. The message was simple. Rene would be on time for their rendezvous.

* * *

 

Armand smiled wolfishly at the sight before him. Rene leaned into his touch. His protégé had been most cooperative so far, much made up for the morning’s trials. Armand allowed his hands to caress the lean muscles of his lover’s chest through his shirt. Rene had exchanged all his boyish softness for lean muscles after all that sword practice. He was gratified when Rene keened throatily as his nipples were lightly pinched and tugged into hardened nubs. 

Rene had appeared on his doorstep at the assigned hour after he had dismissed his servants and guards. He was not wearing his uniform. He had worn his hat pulled down over his face and his cape pulled tightly round him. It would never do for their relationship to be discovered. Once they were within his chambers, Rene removed his hat and cloak before dropping to his knees. “Kiss my ring…” Armand commanded. Rene kissed the gemstone as it brushed against his lips. Armand traced his lover’s lower lip with the tip of his thumb before ordering him to join him in prayer. 

Afterwards, they had shed more of their clothing, down to their shirts and breeches.

“Your Eminence… please, more…” Rene arched up as Armand continued his relentless mapping of every inch of his exposed skin with his fingers and kisses.

“A new wound?” Armand traced a bandage on Rene’s biceps. “How could you allow yourself to be marked thus?”

“A mere flesh wound, a lapse of attention- while duelling with – Ah!” Rene yelped as the cardinal pressed firmly on the wound so that the blood soaked through the linen. With his free hand he untied Rene’s breeches to free his bludgeoning need. 

“Tut-tut, Aramis should have been more wary … You should have better control over your sword, boy…” Armand smiled as he stroked Rene’s proudly erect and weeping cock and eased the foreskin back.

Rene groaned as skilled lips descended upon his prick. He braced himself against the wall behind him to stop himself from grabbing Armand’s hand. With a shout, he succumbed to his lover’s licks and sucking, coming hard down Armand’s throat. Armand swallowed it all.

“Rene, bend over…” Armand guided a weak-kneed Rene over to his heavy desk, shooing away a large cat as he did so. He pushed the younger man down so that his belly and chest were flush against the dark wood. Eagerly, he peeled the breeches down to Rene’s ankles, kissing the buttocks, thighs and shins as they were slowly revealed. Rene was more hirsute now. Dark hairs showed against the porcelain paleness of his legs. His protégé was no longer a boy to be cosseted.

“I want you in me, Armand…” Rene grunted as his buttocks were kneaded. He spread his legs as far as his breeches would allow.

“In good time, boy.” Armand kissed Rene’s ass cheek and was rewarded by a soft moan. Rene frowned when Armand spat into his cleft. Then…

“Christ!” Rene yipped and bit back a blasphemy as a warm, moist object probed at his entrance. Armand’s tongue darted in and out, teasing the tight ring of muscle. When he judged the ring relaxed enough, Armand strolled over to the other side of the table and kissed Rene. Rene could taste his own musk as Armand’s tongue entered his mouth. Armand took his time, drawing out his pleasure until Rene was a keening mess. 

“Aramis vexes me but Rene more than makes up for the trouble. What am I to do, Rene?” Armand murmured conversationally as he inserted one oiled finger into Rene’s warm, tight passage.    

“How about fucking me hard and rough?” Rene growled with impatience. There were two slippery digits in him now, twisting and stretching in a now familiar ache. 

“You know how to tire an old man out…” Armand slapped him on the buttocks before slamming into Rene to the hilt. He did not wait for Rene to adjust to the intrusion before pulling out and slamming in again so hard that Rene’s hips snapped into the desk. “Boy, I will fuck you so hard, you will be limping for days.”

“Yes! More, harder, faster!” Rene whined as he gripped onto the edge of the table to brace himself against the assault. He ground his hips back into his lover, taking each thrust ever deeper, letting that delicious bundle of nerves within him be pounded until white stars appeared before his eyes. The pain had eased into a dull ache. There must be some tearing, for he could feel a warm trickle down his inner thigh. He ignored it, revelling in the sweet pleasure. He was nearing his second peak.

“Armand!”

Rene growled as Armand’s fingers closed on his aching shaft, pinching it at the base so he could not spend himself.

“Not before me, Rene,” Armand hissed into his ear. Rene trembled as his ass was pummelled. With a final grunt, his lover spent himself into him in a burning flood. As he climaxed, Armand gave Rene’s prick a few firm strokes so that Rene spent himself, his passage convulsing around Armand as he reached his orgasm. The younger man shouted and came hard enough to black out.

When he came to, he found his lover towelling down his cleft with a warm, wet cloth. Rene murmured his thanks as Armand wiped between his legs. His ass burned. He was definitely going to limp for a while. 

“Well, that’s you all cleaned up…” Armand declared as he put aside the basin of pink-tinged water and towel. “Now get dressed and get going.” 

“Armand, is this all this boils down to, us meeting to fuck?” Rene grumbled as he pulled up his breeches. 

“Oh, do you wish to discuss theology, Rene? Armand rebutted gruffly. “Don’t get all whiny like some old woman now.” There was a smile on his lips as he helped Rene to his feet.

“You know the risks if we are to be caught,” Armand chided. Rene nodded. He was glad Armand had not asked anything more of him. He could not betray his friends. But he needed this. He wanted to be dominated, mounted by his mentor like a mare by a stallion. Part of him wanted Armand’s approval, revelled in Armand’s touch on his skin. He was in turmoil. 

“Armand, what am I to you? Your whore?” Rene asked hesitantly, afraid of what Armand might say.

“Do you wish to know?” 

“Yes.”

Instead of replying immediately, Armand cupped Rene’s face in his hands and kissed him tenderly, almost chastely on the lips, a light touch before pulling away. “Rene is the light of my life and I yearn for the day he will return to the bosom of the Church. Till then, I will be content with nights like this.”

“What of Aramis the musketeer?” Rene breathed. 

“You infuriating imp. Leave Monsieur Aramis outside my abode next time. When we do _this_ , it is just Rene and Armand.”

“What of the future?” Rene murmured as he lifted Armand’s hand to his lips and kissed the inside of his wrist. “You would want me again… and I you…”

“Hm, you are right…” Armand frowned. He could not possibly entrust Rochefort to contact Aramis the next time he wanted to arrange a tryst with Rene. “We will work something out, together.” He was calling a truce with Rene. They conversed deep into the night, and indulged in a second round of sex, this time in the cardinal’s bed. Rene had gone on his knees and fellated his lover before Armand laughingly rolled him onto his back and thrust his still-erect shaft into Rene’s ass.

* * *

 

It was near dawn when Rene finally departed. 

“Oh, and one more thing, Rene. Tell Aramis to not to get himself killed,” the cardinal called out softly as Rene left. He never felt so sated and content since he left that seminary in Tours. He would sleep in and tell the Comte to go to hell if he dared disturb him. 


	8. Of Cats and Curiousity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armand has a present for Rene despite the outcome of the Affair of the Diamonds.

“Seriously, Armand… a friar?” Rene moaned under the skilful ministrations of his lover. “I thought we agreed on discretion…” Aramis had been most surprised and alarmed when he was accosted by the friar in full view of his friends in the training yard. He had been handed a message which he had hastily excused himself from practice to read. How he had groaned in the privy at the words contained within, imagining all the naughty things Armand described in his flowing hand. Of course, he had to cancel his assignation with the Spanish envoy’s daughter after that.

“Oh, Brother Sebastian can be trusted to be discreet, if he does not wish the bishop to know about his dalliance with a fellow friar…”

“Oh, Armand! You - wicked man… Ah!”

“Shush, now bend over and allow me to bugger you raw.”

With a grin, Rene turned and positioned himself on his knees and elbows with his bare ass sticking up and facing his lover. Armand chuckled and slapped him across the pale ass cheeks a few times before fetching the oil. A few hours later, Aramis limped out into the moonlit and deserted Parisian streets, still feeling the rawness of his arse from Armand’s barely-restrained passion. The oil and stretching had bot been quite enough and he had bled a little. Rene ruefully smiled. His mentor’s ardour was unchecked for someone his age.

* * *

 

Rene revelled in the clandestine pleasures of his affair with the cardinal of Paris as much as Aramis enjoyed the delights of his many lady-friends. Armand had a need to dominate even in bed. He never allowed Rene to take him. Rene allowed Armand liberties the never dreamed he would ever have allowed any man with. Silken scarves to bind him and render him helpless in Armand’s hands, or to blind his sight and heighten the sensation of his lover’s lips and fingers on his skin. True, Aramis had played at such games with the more adventurous ladies of his acquaintance but with Armand, it was another level of enjoyment. Armand enjoyed sex rough and dirty but he was considerate enough not to injure his lover to much during their bed games. It would be awkward if Aramis was rendered unfit for his duties the morning after thanks to his over-indulgence in sweet, obliging Rene.

They did discuss politics and theology on occasion in bed, if their games did not wear them out first and Aramis did not have pressing duties to attend to in the morning. Rene would shiver at the memory of Armand’s hand on his cock, stroking him to yet another peak under the covers as he nonchalantly discussed his views on the latest treaty with Spain or the discourses of St Therese. Armand had a tender side to him, which he only revealed to his young lover. At those rare times, it was as if they were back in the seminary as mentor and student.

Sometimes, Aramis would wonder if his closest friends guessed at his secret. Athos was too caught up in his own misery and drink after his unfortunate marriage to really give much thought to Aramis’ nocturnal excursions, so long as there was at least of bottle of Burgundy wine in the house. Porthos was a simple soul with simple tastes and not much in the way of imagination. He would guffaw and slap Aramis on the back when he left their rooms for his trysts, making ribald jokes about which lucky lady was waiting his comrade’s attentions. Aramis would only grin in reply.

They did notice.

Monsieur de Treville often shook his head when a dishevelled Aramis came rushing in late in the morning after apparently spending the night at a lady-friend’s place. Athos only shrugged whenever he caught Aramis sniffing at that white silk handkerchief which was so dear to him. He prayed his friend would not have his heart shattered by the one he had chosen to give it to. Despite Aramis’ reputation as ladies’ man, the owner of that little white scrap meant something to him.

Honest Porthos once encountered his fellow musketeer in a state of undress in the common baths in the barracks. Aramis had elected to go there after a tumble into a pile of manure while in pursuit of an assassin. As Aramis towelled himself dry, Porthos noticed the prominent bruises on his hips, which were much like the print of hands. Joking, the large man asked which courtesan had been that over-eager with him. Aramis only flushed red and wished Armand had been more restrained the night before. Porhos decided to himself that the culprit behind those bruises was the big-boned laundress who did the linens at de Treville’s. He soon savoured the woman’s homely charms for himself in the comfort of his captain’s linen closet and landed himself with night patrol duties until Christmas when the captain caught him and his paramour at it.

Then D’Artagnan came along. The youth was naturally curious like a cat. Once when he had been invited to the Duchess’ soiree, he had looked out the window to spot D’Artagnan standing below the window. The cheeky brat had grinned and tipped his hat at him. Aramis guessed that D’Artagnan had followed him from the barracks. Afterwards, Rene made a conscious effort to ensure that the boy was not following him when he set off for Armand’s place.

Rochefort did not question why his master sometimes sent him and the other servants away for the night. He wondered if the cardinal sought to allay the loneliness of his esteemed position with a woman. The comte shrugged. It was not his place to question his master. He had threatened to kill the gossipy manservant who spoke of how their master’s sheets reeking of spent sex the morning after. Cardinal Richelieu’s reputation must remain unblemished.   

* * *

 

Rene squirmed in his silken bonds. He was spread open on his back, wrists tied to the bedstead. The cardinal was toying with him, stroking his skin as if he were a skittish horse before walking away. The four musketeers had foiled another one of his meticulously laid plans and he deserved some compensation from Rene, so Rene thought. He had obliged by allowing his wrists to be bound. The black silk over his eyes prevented him from seeing what his lover was doing. The footsteps paced across to the far end of the bedroom before stopping, There came the scraping of wood as a drawer was yanked open, then shut. The footsteps came back towards the bed. An uneasy truce was reached between the Musketeers and the Cardinal after the affair of the diamonds. Surely, Armand would not punish him too severely for his role in the matter. Yet the notion of punishment sent thrills of anticipation down Rene’s spine.

“Rene, Rene… Sometimes you make me wish to punish you for your friends’ misdeeds…” Armand purred. Steady hands parted his thighs and lifted his knees up.

“Forgive me, Your Eminence. Punish me as you see fit…” Rene forced himself to sound sober although he felt like smiling. He had laughed then, given in to Porthos’ mirth at D’Artagnan’s tart reply to the Cardinal. Armand did look as if he were on the verge of apoplexy then. Armand often took himself too seriously by far. 

“That boy, D’Artagnan… he is very young to be a musketeer…” Armand continued. Aramis gasped at the cool splash of oil over his cleft.

“Why, do you desire him or are you jealous?” Rene replied as Armand inserted a finger into his passage.

“Impudent imp…” Armand huffed. “I should have you horsewhipped but since I cannot mark your precious hide…” Rene yelped as something hard was roughly shoved into his ill-prepared passage. He knew what that was. He had craved it himself back in the seminary one night in his mentor’s rooms. Armand wriggled the slick wooden phallus until Rene was squirming and gasping from both the burn of its intrusion and the assault of the bulbous tip on his prostrate.

“Touch m-me… p-please…” Rene whined and begged as his need bludgeoned. But Armand was having none of that. He worked the phallus until Rene came hard and loud all over his stomach.

“It’s so nice to hear you beg, boy…” Armand murmured as he planted an almost chaste kiss on Rene’s sweat-beaded brow. The phallus was removed and Rene felt another hardness nudging at his still-sore opening. Armand did not go easy on him and Rene was screaming out his lover’s name as he was brought to a second climax.

“Rene, Rene, you are so beautiful like this. How I wish I could share the sight of you bound in my bed and covered with seed…” Armand purred and stroked his damp hair.

“You wouldn’t…” Rene challenged. Armand only chuckled darkly and got off the bed. Rene squirmed when he heard the bedchamber door open and close. His lover had returned and he was not alone. Rene gasped as a small weight was placed on the pillow beside his head. It was moving. Instinctively, he turned towards it.

“Surprise…” Armand undid the blindfold and Rene found himself face to face with a black and white kitten. “It’s an anniversary gift from me, dear boy.”

“Anniversary?” Rene giggled as the kitten shyly tickled him with its nose.

“Why, it is five years to the day we first met…”

“Liar,” Rene teased. It was not that long ago he thought hazily but he relented when Armand demanded a passionate kiss from him.

The young cat watched in bewilderment as Rene’s body responded to his lover’s ardour. Rene’s cock stiffened and rose proudly with each delving of Armand’s tongue into his mouth. The mouser-in-training decided that bobbing creature between his new master’s legs must be taught a lesson and padded over on silent paws. The kitten pounced on it with claws bared and Rene screamed an uncharacteristic curse into Armand’s mouth.

* * *

 

Athos’ eyebrows rose when he saw Aramis limping into their rooms with a kitten on his shoulder. “Cat…” Aramis offered meekly as an explanation.

“How did the cat get into your breeches, my friend?” Athos asked as he took another swig from his bottle. Aramis plonked the innocent-faced kitten onto the table top. _Don’t ask,_ Aramis glared at his comrade before limping into his bedroom. Athos chuckled as he chucked the kitten under the chin. A cat would help Grimaud keep the rats from chewing up their clothes and shoes.


	9. Secrets Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armand sets Rene's mind at rest with regards to his fears of discovery by D'Artagnan in a very naughty way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have received some kudos on a previous work with hot D'Artagnan x Rochefort and I have decided to incorporate that relationship as a minor one in this fic.

“Really, Armand… This is…” Rene felt his voice catch with both excitement and fear as they wound their way through the dark streets. Richelieu made it a point to keep spies on important persons at court. Knowledge was power after all. Rene was sure he knew which noblewomen Aramis paid court to or bedded. Aramis would never share his dealings with his lovers freely but Armand has dropped many hints during their sessions. 

_“I swear I can still taste the Duchess’ cunt on your cock, Rene…”_

_“You taste like honey and peaches, Rene. Does the Marshal’s widow taste like that?” he would purr into his ear after a kiss._

_“The ambassador’s wife is near insatiable in bed, so I hear. Do you think she would be open to having a little threesome some night? Perhaps between the two of us we can wear her out…” Rene would always shiver at the indecent insinuations._  

This was the first time their tryst was taking them outside the Cardinal’s private rooms. Armand had been most insistent he came to him this night. Perhaps Armand had given in to his risky desire to watch his protégé with a woman as he had often teased his lover with. The cardinal was dressed as a one of his soldiers. Rene swallowed hard as he stole a sideways glance at his lover. Armand’s hair and beard were streaked with silver, and he had allowed a bit of a paunch to grow from too few opportunities over the past few years to practise his swordsmanship in Paris. Cardinals simply did not go about sparring with their subordinates. Armand had often joked that the only decent sparring he got in Paris as in bed with Rene. Still, in the shadows, he resembled every inch an old soldier rather than a man of the church. 

“Remember how you whispered to me the other night about how your young friend was getting suspicious and how you feared he would find out about your visits to me?”

“Oh,” Rene blushed. He recalled how persistent the ever-curious D’Artagnan had trailed him that particular night. He had lost D’Artagnan by taking a detour into a gambling den. That was close, so he thought. Yet when he departed from the Cardinal’s house that dawn, he had encountered D’Artagnan, looking a little worse for the wear, in the street. They had mumbled their greetings before hastening to report at the barracks.

“Shush, Rene. We’re here…” they paused before a house with shuttered windows. Rene blinked. They were at the back door of a local brothel rumoured to cater to more exotic tastes. Armand rapped hard twice on the door fast, then twice again slow. The door creaked open and a wizened hag with a lantern greeted them. She ushered them into a darkened room barely larger than a closet. Armand emptied a couple of coins into her outstretched hand and dismissed her. Armand shuttered the lantern left to them and shifted aside a small panel on the wall to reveal a peephole. Chortling softly, he motioned for Rene to join him and peer through the spyhole.

Rene stifled a gasp when he saw what was unfolding in the room next to theirs. A male body languorously stretched out upon a rough table. It was D’Artagnan, stark naked with his hand playing between his parted thighs. His lids were half-masted, his shaft proudly erect as his fingers toyed with it. The young musketeer was not alone. A dark-haired male bent over his chest, lapping and nipping at his skin. D’Artagnan moaned and Rene felt the blood rush to his groin. Rene also became aware of Armand pushing up behind him and a telling bulge pressing into his ass. 

“Gascons can be so expressive, don’t you think?” Rene shivered as Armand’s tongue licked his earlobe. 

In the next room, D’Artagnan’s lover laughed and halted his attentions on the musketeer’s nipples to retrieve a bottle of wine. Rene’s eyes almost popped out when he recognized the man as Rochefort. Rochefort took a swig of the wine before leaning into a sloppy kiss with D’Artagnan. He then strolled over to the other end of the table and parted D’Artagnan’s thighs, dribbling the reminder of the wine over his cock and balls before dipping his head. D’Artagnan choked back a scream as he was suckled mercilessly by his lover until he spilled down Rochefort’s throat. 

“Good God, Armand. I have to face him tomorrow…” Rene muttered as he fought to ignore the sensation of skilled fingers stroking him through the cloth of his breeches. Yet he could not pull himself away from the sight. 

“A stroke of good luck and a lead which I had some of my people follow up. Of course our Gascons were most indiscreet- I happened to espy our Comte pleasuring your friend in that old armoury corridor in the palace,” Armand’s tone was almost conversational as he untied his lover’s laces and yanked the cloth down past his hips. “Shall we go over and introduce ourselves?”   

“Lord, no…” Rene shook his head. Armand hummed as he uncorked the small vial of oil from his pocket and applied it generously to his fingers. Rene’s bared buttocks gleamed golden and welcoming in the candlelight.

Rochefort helped a still-shaky D’Artagnan off the table and bent him belly-down over it. As Rene watched, the Comte took a vial of oil and emptied it generously into his hand.

“Fuck me hard, Comte…” D’Artagnan growled as the Comte’s fingers danced over his entrance, never quite breaching the tight pucker. “So impatient…” Rochefort purred and slapped the young man’s ass-cheek hard enough to leave a reddened mark. D’Artagnan’s breath hitched at the impact and he wriggled his hips, urging his lover to either proceed or continue with the spanking. Rochefort chose the former, opening him up with well-slicked fingers.

Biting his lower lip, Rene shifted his legs apart to allow Armand’s fingers access to his own opening. He reached to touch himself but Armand stopped him.

“Hands up on the wall. Tell me what they are doing…”  

“The Comte is prepping him… oh!” Rene whispered and fought to concentrate on the goings-on in the next room. He was hard, maddeningly so. Yet he obeyed Armand’s instruction.

“Rochefort has his fingers inside him…” Rene hitched as he felt one, two- no, three fingers inside him, scissoring in a dull and familiar ache. It has been a while since he had been with Armand. “He is pouring more oil on…” Rene watched in perverse fascination as the comte poured the remainder of the oil onto D’Artagnan’s ass such that ran down between his cheeks.

“D’Artagnan’s so red… he’s gripping onto the table edge…” Rene was feeling terribly warm and flushed himself. His fingers dug at the wall panelling. His clothes were too thick and cumbersome. He wanted them off. He bit back a scream as Armand massaged that spot deep inside him. Thankfully, the couple in the next room were too engrossed in their own lovemaking to hear him. Rene wondered how the Come managed it but he was certain he had his entire hand buried within the slight body of his comrade.

“So full… fuck me some m-more…” D’Artagnan shuddered and groaned at his lover’s attentions. He bucked back against Rochefort, as if trying to take him in to the elbow.

“He’s got his entire hand inside… ah!” Rene moaned as the fingers were removed and swiftly replaced by Armand’s cock. Rene could barely keep himself on his feet or coherent as Armand pistoned into his ass with the precision of a drill sergeant, until his world was a blur of needy lust.

In the next room, D’Artagnan reached his climax hard and Rochefort removed his hand from his ass. He strolled over nonchalantly before D’Artagnan’s face and undid his breeches, freeing his long-neglected shaft. It only took a few strokes of his palm before he came over D’Artagnan’s upturned face and curls. Rene came too, all over the wall he was pressed up against. Armand groaned and came, flooding him with his scalding seed.

* * *

 

Two days later, Rochefort wondered why Aramis coughed and turned pink when they passed each other in the corridor of the palace. Rochefort did perk up considerably when he spotted D’Artagnan giving him that look as he followed some distance behind Aramis and Athos. A quick tumble in the stables would be nice before he left for Tours. Aramis rolled his eyes and cursed when he caught that look both men exchanged. 

“Aramis?” Athos queried when Aramis stopped in his tracks.

“Sorry, just distracted…” Aramis apologised. He kept his eyes carefully averted as D’Artagnan caught up to them. It will take some time for him to be able too look D’Artagnan in the eye without picturing the young man naked, debauched and squirming like on Rochefort’s hand or his cheeks flushed pink and covered with the man’s seed. _Damn you, Armand._

* * *

 

Two hours later in the stables… 

“Really, we got to stop meeting like this, “ D’Artagnan winced as he felt the familiar burn of his passage. He would limp for a while but he did not fault Rochefort for it one bit. They both enjoyed it rough. He reached for his breeches and donned them. His lover had already dressed and was scratching at a still-bleeding wound on his neck where the younger man’s over-zealous nips had torn the skin.

“Are you worried of being caught, my young colt? I doubt your friends will fault you for being you… Or perhaps you can ask Athos to spank your bottom in my absence…”

“I speak of your master… I could have sworn I saw someone leaving two nights ago from the Madame’s, in the uniform of a cardinal’s guard, looking just like him …”

“The others do use the Madame’s rooms for their trysts. But His Eminence? Bah, you were incoherent and tired…”

“And who can we blame for that?” D’Artagnan chuckled impishly. He better hurry home before Athos got worried. There were some things he did not wish to share, even with his best friends in Paris.  


	10. A Parting of Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things must come to an end. An unfortunate action on Armand's part drives Rene away from him and pride refuses to let him apologize.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously don’t know if I can continue writing this purple prose. Might end soon.

There were some nights where the doubts slipped in over the mind-blowing lust. Tonight was one of those nights. Rene reflected ruefully as he rubbed his bruised jaw. He flinched as he rolled over into a more comfortable position. His ass burned from the rough use it had been put to earlier. His cock and balls throbbed with pain. His lover snored softly on the pillows beside him, spent.

It had started off in a bad way. Their tryst was almost unplanned. An explosion had rocked a chateau where the Queen would have been staying with her ladies. Three luckless comrades were killed by the blast and ensuing fire, two more grievously wounded. D’Artagnan would have been one of them had not one Comte Rochefort been seen dragging his unconscious lover from the scene and to safety. The comte escaped before he could be detained for questioning. His presence there could only mean one thing- the Cardinal’s involvement.

Upon returning to Paris, he had sought out that messenger monk and relayed a note to Armand. The reply came too slowly for his liking. Rene had guarded his tongue during those trysts, but the preparations for Her Majesty’s journey had been obvious enough to His Eminence’s many spies. Aramis rankled at the loss of his fellow musketeers. D’Artagnan had suffered a knock on the head from falling masonry. Porthos minor burns from rushing in to rescue his comrades. Both were still unfit for duty and recovering in the barracks. Athos had gone to drink himself into a stupor over his failure to notice the gunpowder planted there.

“You scoundrel!” Aramis growled as soon as he stepped into Richelieu’s study. The cardinal was sipping at a glass of red wine in his chair.

“Why, Rene…” that was as far as the Richelieu got before Aramis smacked the glass out of his hand.

“Don’t you dare ‘Rene’ me. You got my friends killed… You could have got me killed!” Aramis growled. If he had brought his sword with him, he was certain he would have killed the cardinal there and then.

“Ah, the fortunes of war… I am glad you escaped unscathed… Weren’t you to be sent to Tours this time?” Armand continued conversationally as he rose from his seat, staggering slightly as he did so. _He was drunk_ , Rene realised. He captured Rene’s lips in a searing kiss which melted away any resistance from the younger man. Rene could taste the wine on Armand’s tongue, seductive and dangerous. Part of his mind screamed for him to get a hold of himself. The man had cold-bloodedly planned the near-murder of the queen. The fire in his loins urged him to surrender fully to the man’s ministrations.

“I missed you so much…” Armand whispered into the shell of Rene’s ear and Rene trembled. His initial fury had melted like spring snow in the sun. He was lost.

He did not understand how they came to be naked and on the satiny sheets of Armand’s bed. All he knew was he wanted more of Armand’s touches and kisses. He moaned shamelessly and begged for more as Armand skilfully played his body like an instrument. He readily parted his lips and suckled the heavy shaft Armand offered him. He could taste the musk, intoxicating and salty on his tongue.

“Enough, boy, Now, on your back and let me possess you completely.” Armand’s eyes were dark with eager lust now. Rene grinned impishly. He did not want the night to end so soon. Instead of complying, he rose from where he had been kneeling to kiss his lover’s jaw.

“Hurry up…” Armand growled ferally. He held himself stiffly as his lover nipped and sucked at his collarbone. Rene wickedly reached for that erect cock where a backhanded slap connected with his jaw.

“Do not try my patience, boy…” Another blow sent him reeling back into the headboard. Stunned, Rene watched through a red haze as his lover slicked up his cock and bent Rene’s knees almost up to his chest.

“W-wait…” Rene gasped. He was aware of Armand’s cock nudging between his buttocks. He had not been prepared yet…

Armand ignored his pleas and with a hard thrust, he shoved himself into the younger man’s body. Rene screamed aloud from the intrusion. It hurt. A backhanded slap caught him unguarded. There was nothing gentle about the pounding he was subjected to. Nothing gentle about the nails reaching between their sweat-sheened bodies to dig into his bobbing cock. Rene whimpered. He did not want this. Not like this. True, they had engaged in rough bed-play before but this was different.

“You. Are. Mine. Boy… Don’t forget your place…” Armand punctuated every word with a hard thrust into the unresisting body beneath him. Rene felt something give inside him. Something warm trickled out of him and he knew it to be his own blood. The blood acted as lubricant, easing the violence of the continuing thrusts. The problem was that he was soft now. His flagging erection only seemed to irk his lover.

“Why don’t you come for me?” Armand nipped at his nipple. Rene dug his fingers into the sheets with a moan as cruel fingers raked across his balls and shaft, forcing his loins to tighten once more. He could not…

A vicious pinch to the head of his cock did it. With a harsh cry, he came. The spasm of his passage about Armand’s cock spurred his lover’s orgasm. With a groan, Armand spilled deep within him. Nonchalantly, Armand pulled out of him and cleaned himself. If he noticed the bloodstains and bruises on Rene, they did not bother him. Rene mutely took the stained cloth when Armand tossed it at him to clean himself up. No words were exchanged this time. Armand flopped down on the bed beside him and was soon in a post-coital slumber.

 _A whore, to be used and discarded without further thought._ Rene laughed bitterly. Aramis treated the whores he visited on occasion with more courtesy than Armand had conducted their affair. He had to end this. When Armand awoke, he was long gone.

* * *

 

“You what?” Athos’ eyebrows shot up at the news.

“I am resigning from the musketeers and leaving Paris,” Aramis repeated.

“Why the sudden…” D’Artagnan questioned as he waved at the serving wench for another round of refreshments. The bandage about his brow was a vivid reminder of their recent misadventure.  

“Well, why not? Porthos is leaving to get married. Athos here will be returning to take over running his estate…”

“What will you do? Get married?” Athos asked dryly. The whole reason for his pending retirement was the unexpected news of his becoming a father. His little boy deserved to have someone to look out for him during his growing years and being a musketeer was a risky occupation. Their escorting Her Majesty to Toulouse Cathedral had been the last mission for Athos and Porthos.

“Perhaps I will return to the seminary and continue where I left off…” Aramis spoke offhandedly. He had given the matter careful thought since their return to Paris. He would no longer be at Armand’s beck and call despite the fact that part of him hurt at the thought of leaving behind those nights of forbidden passion. It was time to move on.

* * *

 

 _Rene, I apologise for my callous behaviour…_ Armand scowled at the freshly-inked words and tore the letter to pieces. He had awoken to find Rene gone and the letter on his table. Rene was ending their affair and leaving Paris to boot. Part of him wanted to go over to the Musketeer barracks and haul Rene out to knock some sense into him. He was acting like a spoilt child. Perhaps that was Rene had been all this time. Or perhaps Rene was still mad he had been put in danger by Richelieu’s politicking and plotting. Armand laughed bitterly. If the blast had not occurred too early, he would have had that thorn in his side removed and Louis XIII clamouring for his advice for the good of France. The queen was always a thoughtless woman who acted only for the benefit of her brother in Spain. If Her Majesty were to perish, Louis would be free to cement an alliance with the Holy Roman princess…

Try as he might to justify his plots, he could not justify his actions of the night before. He had used Rene as if he were some boy whore he had paid for back when he was still a soldier, a hole to be used for his gratification and forgotten about. True, he enjoyed exercising his power over his lover in bed and Rene had been willing to submit to his rough play but last night was different. He groaned in despair. He ought to apologise to Rene but his pride refused to allow that.

Rochefort was in a foul mood when he delivered the latest news from their spy in de Treville’s barracks. The three Inseparables who had long been a pain in their sides were resigning. Richelieu felt little joy at the information. Aramis was going to join a seminary at Varennes to complete his priestly studies. For a long while after he had dismissed his faithful lackey, the cardinal paced his study floor. He cared little for Porthos or Athos, but Aramis, no, Rene…

He could demand the abbot of the seminary to send Rene to be his personal secretary but Rene would not thank him for it. In fact, Aramis might just take it into his head to leave France entirely. Young Rene had once voiced his desire to join the Jesuits and go see the wide world beyond European shores. No, he would not see Rene, yet. Perhaps he would pull a few favours to ease his protégé’s path in the Mother Church. One day, perhaps, they would meet again and all will be forgiven.

* * *

 

With a weary sigh, the cardinal glanced out of his window to spy his lackey being dragged by the arm towards the stables by an angry-looking young musketeer. Richelieu wondered if he should shout for his guards. If Rochefort were to be bested by a musketeer, it would be his own fault…

Rochefort roughly shoved the musketeer up against the stable wall with a resounding thud.

“Almost killed me…”

“I saved your miserable ass, you ingrate…”

The harsh words of their exchange drifted up to the cardinal on the breeze. The musketeer was D’Artagnan. The cardinal saw he had a bandage around his brow when Rochefort ripped the hat off his head. The sun had set and the light in the yard was fading. The cardinal could sense the crackling desire between the pair even as the last of the sun’s rays fled the sky.

“Indeed, where would you stick it besides my ass?”

“You think too highly of yourself… Sure you up to it?”

“Ready when you are… My, someone is eager tonight… Shall we see who’s the better swordman then?”

The argument gave way to ribald banter and caresses. Rochefort spun D’Artagnan around so that he was pressed flush against the wall. It was now too dark to see their actions but the tell-tale groans and slap of skin on skin was enough to convey their actions to the watcher. Armand reached into his cassock and stroked himself to completion, imaging Rene’s tight warmth around him.  


	11. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue taking place years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rounding off this fic.

_If there was a God, He has a sense of ironic humour._ Armand reflected as he fretted in his sickbed. He had been the target of numerous plots against his life as the cardinal of Paris and the king’s confidant and advisor. He had survived far more assassination attempts than he could count on his fingers and toes. Some men gossiped that he had made a deal with Lucifer for his invulnerability to blade and poison alike. No, it was sheer luck and the skill of his bodyguard Rochefort which saved him on many occasions.

He had been forced retire from court once the Spanish bitch became regent to the young king, putting her own creature in his former post. He was thankful to have escaped with his reputation and life intact, not to mention a comfortable hoard squirreled away to cater to his twilight years. It had started as a mild cough which refused to go away. Then the ague set in. The physicians with their bleeding lancets and poultices could do nothing for him. As the months passed, he became weaker and weaker.

Armand knew he was dying when he awoke one morning coughing blood. Consumption, the physician shook his head. Incurable.

He faced his approaching death the same way he had faced death on the battlefield in his youth and the assassin’s blade in the political world. He set about putting his business in order. Having no children or heirs to inherit his wealth, he deeded it to the Church he had served for so long. He wrote letters of references for his household servants so that they might find employment after his death. He prepared instructions on how his funeral and remains should be dealt with.

The one thing Richelieu feared was confession. True, he had gone for confession monthly, but he had held back the worst of his sins- those sins which bordered on treachery against their Majesties, even if it were for the good of France. He did not trust his confessor not to break the seal of the confessional. There was also that liaison with Rene which the Church had deemed sinful. It was one thing to confess to stabbing a would-be assassin in self-defence. Another to admit to coldly planning the queen’s death.

Yet for the good of his soul it must be dealt with. Coughing, he called his servant to bring him writing paper, ink and a quill.

 _Would he come?_ Rene had risen both fast and high since he took his priestly vows of obedience, chastity and poverty. How well he kept to his vows was another matter. Gossip spoke of a widowed duchess who was a very dear friend of the bishop, and a young boy who bore a striking resemblance to him.

Another day passed without news. Armand sat in his bed and watched the setting sun paint the sky outside his window pink before fading to a soft grey. The first stars started twinkling in the sky as his servant brought a supper of thin soup and soft bread. He picked at the bread and managed a few spoons of soup before calling his man to take the tray away.

* * *

 

“Armand? Are you awake still?”

The cardinal’s eyes fluttered open. _That voice…_

“Rene?”

“Yes, I am here…” Rene was older now. The years had added an air of dignity to him. He was no longer a youth or a hot-blooded young man.

“I am sorry…” Armand coughed. Rene helped him sit up to cough into a basin.

“Is that it, Armand? You called me here to apologize?” There was hint of amusement in Rene’s eyes despite the chiding tone in his voice. There was a moment of silence between the one-time mentor and his protégé. It was Rene who broke the silence.

“What past is past. I loved you once, Armand… perhaps I still think fondly of you.”

“You left…” Armand rasped.

“With your blessings apparently,” Rene added pointedly. “You could have stopped me anytime. You did not. Perhaps it was for the best. We could not be honest with each other then, not fully… I had to leave before my feelings for you turn to hate. You must have understood that.”

Armand nodded. Rene was always a sharp one.

“Well, Armand, shall we get started?” the bishop thumbed the pages of his Bible. “Starting with confessions for sins of the flesh?” Armand could not resist a chuckle at Rene’s mockingly serious words.

“No, let’s start with that attempt on Her Majesty…”


End file.
